


Completing the Square

by elistaire



Series: Happy Math and Science [3]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Multi, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-17
Updated: 2013-11-17
Packaged: 2018-01-01 20:30:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1048265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elistaire/pseuds/elistaire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hawkeye is hurt during a fight, and it looks a lot worse than it is.  Hulk grows furious with grief.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Completing the Square

**Author's Note:**

  * For [writerchick0214](https://archiveofourown.org/users/writerchick0214/gifts).



> For writerchick0214, since she gave me the spark of the idea.

“Tony.” Clint’s voice in Tony’s ear was breathy, like a debutante at a ball, and Tony pulled up in his flight pattern to twist around in the sky until he had eyes on Clint. “Just got gassed. Civilian needs….” Tony was never sure if he imagined the thump or if he’d actually heard it through the communication unit. 

“Hold on.” Tony kept scanning, and then located them. Two bodies on a nearby roof. Clint had called out to him because Tony had been in his line of sight, and close enough to help. Or close enough to be the first one on the scene. Tony flew down, landing five feet away, with his heart in his throat because Clint was on the ground, and he wasn’t moving. 

There was a civilian girl with him, who must have been the one Clint started to describe. She was a gangly teenager with thick, dark hair. And a massive, red clot glistened in her hair, where it looked as if blood had streaked out of a scalp wound. It flowed freely down half her face and soaked into her shirt. Clint must have been carrying her because there were streaks of blood all down his neck and shoulder, to his upper arm and chest, and on his hands. It was impossible to know for sure, but Tony didn't think that Clint had any injuries, other than a dozen bumps and bruises from falling unconscious.

Neither was conscious, and Tony could see the canister of gas a short distance away, with a thin stream of grey-green smoke emanating from it. “Compound, Jarvis?”

“Unknown, sir. More analysis time required.”

In two steps he’d crushed it under his Iron Man boot, sealing whatever was left inside the container. He could retrieve it later, if needed. In two more steps he’d cradled the girl in one arm, and slung Clint into the other. 

“I’m coming in. Hawkeye is down and out. One civilian, bleeding.” They were unconscious, and terribly vulnerable, so Tony gentled them into the air. Speed was incredibly important, but not causing more damage was more important than anything. 

“Thank you, Iron Man.” Steve was calm in his ear. “Widow, Thor, pick up the slack.”

Tony tuned the rest of the team chatter out as they rearranged to take over the sections that Clint and Tony were leaving. 

He rushed to an ambulance waiting on the edge of the fray for the injured. All the workers seemed to be occupied with dozens of patients already, though. There were no cots to place any more victims, they’d already piled up around the ambulance, waiting their turn. _Fucking soldiers of fortune,_ Tony thought, _and their fucking plans to rob banks._ He hated heists, and he particularly despised heists gone wrong to the point where people were hurt and killed.  
A medic scrambled to take the girl from Tony’s grip as he landed, examining her on the ground. “She’s alive,” the man said, his fingers flashing over her pulse points, and pulling her eyelids up. She was already groaning, coming around, and Tony flashed back to their positioning on the rooftop. Clint had protected her from the worst of it, taking the brunt of the gas. 

“They were gassed,” Tony said. “Undetermined compound.” He still had Clint slung over a shoulder. With the girl removed, he rearranged Clint so that he was holding him in a horrendous caricature of a blushing bride being carried over a threshold. “I need another medic!” Tony shouted. Blood was pounding in his ears, making it hard to concentrate. He’d held back the frantic emotions, seeing Clint down and unresponsive, but now that he was at the ambulance, it felt as if everything happened too slowly. The other medic was already running toward them, supplies in one hand, and it still felt too long. _It will be fine,_ Tony told himself. It was knock-out gas, and Clint would wake up with a tremendous headache, but he would wake up. Just like the girl at his feet who was turning sideways to retch.

Clint was still breathing in his arms, though shallowly and erratically. Clint’s head lolled back, and for a horrible moment Tony thought he had stopped breathing, but after quickly shifting Clint so his head was upright against his breastplate, he saw that Clint was alive. “Jeez, Barton,” Tony muttered, his mouth working automatically as relief flooded through him at the small mercy. “You’re covered in blood, and you just got it all over me. I’m definitely going to send you my dry cleaning bill.” Tony swallowed, and the medic finally reached them. 

She began to professionally assess Clint’s condition. “He’s gonna be okay,” she said, over and over again. “He’ll be okay.” Tony realized as she spoke that it was meant to be both comforting to him, and for herself. She did seem awfully young to be tending to such a severe situation. He hoped her little mantra was not misplaced.

Then Tony realized things were about to go from concerning to drastic and dire. “Shit,” Tony said. He’d caught a flash of green between the buildings. 

Hulk had seen. Hulk had noticed. 

“Oh, fuck,” Tony muttered. “You have about fifteen seconds here,” he told the medic, “before things get serious.”

“What?” the medic asked, though her eyes didn’t leave Clint. 

Then the Hulk landed, turning the sidewalk to rubble. The medic toppled over, falling to her hands and knees, which wasn’t a bad thing as it got her out of the way. Tony thought it probably wasn’t a wise choice to stand between Clint and the Hulk. He wasn’t particularly happy about holding Clint, considering the proximity that granted to the Hulk, and that Tony’s repulsors were covered by Clint’s form. 

Tony had never seen such a thunderous look before, even on a creature known for its cataclysmic anger. “Hulk,” Tony started, and then switched tactics. “Bruce. He’s going to be okay. It’s not as bad as it looks. He’s just asleep right now.”

But Hulk’s attention was only on Clint, and Tony knew it looked bad. Really, really bad. “We have a situation here, Captain.” Tony didn’t bother to whisper, but he spoke in a low tone, keeping the information neutral. The Hulk’s hearing was excellent. Although it wasn’t his hearing that Tony worried about, but what he had seen. 

Hulk roared, and the world quaked. 

~~~ 

Tinman spoke. Hulk did not understand. 

Hulk reached to take his Cupid, his Bowman. His friend. 

Tinman pulled him away. He shook his head. He looked upset. Upset at Hulk. 

Hulk huffed. He could smash Tinman. Take Bowman. 

(Pain shot all through the Hulk. His friend was hurt, and Hulk did not like that at all. He was limp in the bad way, the way that spoke of broken things, and smashed things. Bowman was all covered in red and brown, the bad colors. Hulk had seen. He had seen from a distance.)

“Listen to me, big guy. Clint is going to be okay. Clint is going to be fine. He is asleep right now. But he’s going to be okay. This isn’t his blood. Can you calm down? I know you want him, but if you hold him, then the medics can’t help him, and he needs their help right now. Help to be okay. So, I can’t let you hold him, okay?”

Clint was asleep? Hulk did not think Tinman was right. Clint looked _smashed_. 

(The loss made Hulk dizzy, and angry. Emotions bubbled over him, drowning him, filling him with rage. His friend. His. _His._ Someone, something had smashed _his_ friend. Hulk did not like that, not at all. Another emotion washed over him, and he did not know the name of it, only that it made him feel bad. Banner would know the name of this emotion, but Hulk did not. It made him feel sick. Angry. Rage was always there. But this new emotion, it was only there because Bowman was broken, and Hulk did not like that. He wanted Bowman back. Hulk made fists with his hands. Tinman was not going to let Hulk take Bowman. And Hulk could smash Tinman, and take his friend. But Hulk knew he could not _fix_. He could smash. Smashing Tinman would not fix Bowman.)

Hulk reached again, and Tinman did not move away. Hulk touched the tip of his finger to the very top of Bowman’s head. Soft. Still soft. Hulk liked soft. But Bowman smiled when he did it. Before. Before he was smashed. Bowman did not move now. He did not smile. Hulk did not like that. 

(Hulk ached to take Bowman, to carry him away. If he took him away, then it would be different. Bowman would smile again. But Hulk knew this was not true. It had never been true. Hulk had tried before, in the past. Once a thing was smashed, then it was smashed. That emotion from before flooded up from the pit of Hulk’s stomach at that thought, and went into his brain, and he staggered under the lash of it, powerful and overwhelming. He _drowned_ in the emotion. Once smashed, a thing stayed smashed. )

Hulk roared. His roar had woken Tinman, that time before. But Bowman did not move. He roared again, and the bad feeling was everywhere inside him. A new thought took him. 

What had done this? 

He fought bad men. The bad men would have done this. Hulk needed to destroy the bad men. 

Hulk did not wait. He smashed.

(Hulk felt better when he smashed. If Bowman had been hurt, was it Hulk’s fault? Had he not smashed enough? Were his other friends in danger? Tinman was still unsmashed. Hulk had not seen the others. Did Hulk need to smash more? If he did not, would the others be hurt? Would Tinman be hurt? Hulk only had Tinman now…now that Bowman was smashed. That emotion threatened to overwhelm Hulk again, and he knew what he had to do. He had to smash it _all_. He could not let anything happen to Tinman. He had failed before, failed to protect Bowman. His favorite. His friend. The one with so many smiles and laughing eyes, and bold words that made Hulk feel emotions he had no names for. Bowman had made Hulk happy. And now he would never make Hulk happy again, and Hulk had lost that. Lost his happiness.

The rage that descended upon Hulk was unprecedented in its sudden, sharp, biting nature. It was not external, like the bullets and bombs of bad men. It was internal. Hulk would never be happy again. _Never_.) 

Hulk smashed.  


Hulk smashed everything in his way. He jumped and smashed. He roared. He smashed. He smashed, and smashed, and smashed. And _smashed_. 

Everything he touched crumbled to dust. He walked and the world shook. The ground could not hold him. He jumped and where he landed, he smashed. He broke everything. He clenched his fists and dust rose from his hands. The ground became uneven. The sun glinted off things and still there was more to smash. He ground his feet into the stones and the concrete, and it broke under him. Everything became jagged. There were edges all around. 

(Hulk liked the edges. It was how he felt. Sharp and angry. He liked the glint of metal things and glass things in the sunlight. It was also how he felt. All innards strewn across the ground. Everything inside him had been ripped by an invisible hand, to leave him hollow and empty. So he would make the world look as he felt.) 

Hulk did not tire. If he stopped, there would be danger. Tinman might be smashed. The others might be smashed. Hulk would not allow that. 

He ignored the cacophony of sound that rose around him, and the screaming and yelling. 

So Hulk smashed. _Smashed_ and smashed. 

~~~ 

Clint slid back to consciousness amid a jumble of noise and confusion. He could see the underside of Iron Man’s chin, and enough of Tony's face to know his face plate was up, and that he was arguing loudly with Captain America. The yelling was loud, but given the way his head throbbed, incoherent. There was also some sort of all-encompassing ambient noise that blotted everything else out. Clint’s head felt like someone had kicked it from the inside, and his throat was sore and dry. His energy seemed drained away, and he wasn’t sure how he’d gotten into this condition. He didn’t remember much, although the memories were slowly leaking back in. He’d been trying to rescue a girl. She’d cut her head pretty badly and had been bleeding copiously. 

Clint couldn’t quite move. Tony was holding him very tightly, so Clint shifted his head a little, and realized that he was being cradled like some sick child. “Tony?” he tried to say, although it came out as a strange coughing sound. 

Tony looked down at him and his eyes went wide. There was no mistaking the relief in his face. “Thank the fuck, Barton.”

Steve hovered into Clint’s view. He mirrored Tony's relief, but he also looked focused and determined. “I know you feel rotten, Hawkeye, but we need you. Hulk is about to smash himself into lockdown.” 

Clint instantly tensed. “Hulk?” 

“Lover is currently trashing the world,” Tony supplied. “Since he thinks you’re dead, or something. Apparently both rage and _grief_ make the Hulk extra cranky.”

“How long?” Clint twisted in Tony’s grip, finally getting a clear view of the issue. The source of the furious sound became clear. Hulk was demolishing everything. To the ground. It appeared quite systematically, too. Clint could trace his path of carnage through other things, like a croquet game turned ruinous. 

“Less than a minute,” Tony said. “If we gave him half an hour, the whole city would be rubble.”

“Get me to him,” Clint wheezed. 

“Hang on,” Tony instructed, and then they shot through the air. 

It wasn’t the most pleasant feeling, given that Clint’s mind was already turning cartwheels from the gas he’d inhaled. Staying awake required concentration and will power and Clint was maintaining it through sheer bloody-mindedness alone. 

“Hulk!” Tony called as he neared. “Look! Look, here, buddy!” 

The Hulk paused in his path of destruction and terror and fixed his gaze on Tony, and Clint sucked in a breath. The Hulk was raw and savage with determination, and misery. Clint could see it in the grime-coated streaks across Hulk’s face and the way his whole body vibrated with unsuppressed power. 

Hulk growled at Tony, obviously dissatisfied that he was being encroached upon.  
Clint had been clinging to Tony’s arms and shoulders, figuring that if he got dropped then he'd go splat. He didn’t have the energy to tuck and roll. He didn’t even have the energy to remember anything about tucking or rolling. But he loosed one arm and waved at the Hulk. “Hulk,” he managed, and he watched as shock bloomed over Hulk’s face. 

“Cupid,” Hulk said, and he heaved in his breathing, chest expanding and contracting violently, for a moment as he waited for Tony to come near. Then he reached out and took Clint from Tony’s arms, with a care that had not existed in his ferocity just moments ago. 

“Here, big guy,” Clint said. He touched one hand to Hulk’s bicep. “Don’t smash anymore, okay? I need to sleep, and you’re noisy.”

Hulk whuffed his assent, cradling Clint in his arms. It was like being cocooned, and Clint relaxed. Then Hulk turned away from Tony and leapt into the air. Clint was too tired to care. Hulk wouldn’t hurt him, and he needed to close his eyes. 

~~~ 

Bruce woke up on the roof of Stark Tower, with Clint draped gracelessly across his legs. For an instant, he felt as if his heart might seize up as bits and pieces jumbled around his brain. 

Wracked with sobs, even if tears wouldn’t come, Bruce bent over and put his fingers through Clint’s short hair, and his nose just above his hairline. He could smell the dirt and grime, the stench of dried blood, and it didn’t matter. Clint was alive. Not broken, not smashed. 

The Other Guy's emotions bled out through him, and Bruce curled in against Clint even more, but it was just an echo of what Hulk had felt, and faded as soon as Bruce processed it. Clint was not dead. He was alive. 

But the Other Guy had been confused, and he’d been about to smash the world apart. _Grief_ , Bruce thought. The Hulk had not known the name for it. _When you lose someone_ , Bruce thought, and knew that the Hulk was learning it, _it is called grief._

This was more dangerous than anything Bruce had ever done before. It was lunacy to allow the Other Guy to form attachments. And to someone else in the field, someone human. Clint might be a skilled professional, but he bled as easily as everyone else. And Bruce had been encouraging this. He’d hoped, that somehow, it would calm the Other Guy down. But no, he could see now that it would do the opposite. It would enflame the precariousness of his temperament. Hulk had smashed before for his own self preservation, with a single-minded anger. Now…now Hulk cared more about someone else. The devastation wrought could be incalculable. 

“Chill, Bruce,” Clint murmured as he shifted, coming awake. He rolled off Bruce and behind him. “I can hear your brain going a thousand miles a minute. It’s fine. Hulk hardly smashed much at all. And you know Tony pays for that stuff.

The loose ends of all the Other Guy’s roiling emotions cascaded through Bruce, from top to bottom and back again, crossing currents, and it took Bruce a moment to wrangle it all under control. He didn’t need the Other Guy to show up again, not until Bruce had a chance to check on Clint. His gut felt like it had dropped a dozen stories. 

"Clint?” He asked gently, unsure where to put his hands, how to check the man in a way that wouldn’t hurt him more. 

“Bruce,” Clint mumbled. He circled and moved, and somehow rotated so that he was closer to Bruce’s face, and they were looking into each other’s eyes. “Feeling better?” he asked.

“You’re covered in blood,” Bruce said instead of giving a response about his state. He wasn’t exactly sure how to answer that. 

“Not mine.” Clint pressed in against Bruce, drooping his head against Bruce’s chest. “I got gassed. It’s messing with my head, I can’t keep my eyes open.”

“Are you—Is that all—"

“That’s it,” Clint said. “Just a little Sleeping Beauty routine in the middle of a fight. I guess Hulk thought it was worse.”

Bruce swallowed. “That’s putting it mildly.” Relief flooded through Bruce, making him light-headed. Clint was _fine_. He was alive and mostly unhurt, and only a little woozy, and it wasn’t serious. Bruce’s body shuddered with the release of worry and grief, and anger. Deep inside, the Other Guy stopped beating against the walls. _It’s fine,_ Bruce thought. _Clint’s fine. You don’t have to avenge him._

It seemed enough for the Other Guy, although Bruce was then swamped with the general desire to…he wanted to rub Clint’s hair. Bruce smiled, and gave in. He didn’t mind. 

Clint closed his eyes as Bruce rubbed at his head and hair. “That feels nice,” he said, fixing Bruce with a sloppy smile. “Hulk needs some comfort?”

“He’s not frantic anymore, but he’s not settling like usual.”

“I figured.” Clint sighed. 

Bruce was silent for a long moment as he ran the tips of his fingers through Clint’s hair. The Other Guy calmed, satisfied that Bruce was doing something, and Bruce realized that was why he was back. The Other Guy had _needed_ him. To take care of Clint, in ways that the Other Guy recognized he couldn't, because if Clint wasn't dead, _smashed_ came the echo of near blinding emotion, then he needed care.

Despite Clint's previous assurances, Bruce took a moment to assess. Clint was bloody from the neck down, but it was soaked into his clothes, and caked onto his skin. Aside from a few abrasions, there wasn't anything that Bruce could categorize as an injury. That didn't mean there weren't internal injuries, and breathing in an unknown gas was unwise, but other than being filthy, grimy and disheveled, Clint seemed whole. 

“I was frantic too,” Bruce finally said, in a very soft voice. As he said it, he knew it was absolutely true. They may have started their odd relationship based on the Other Guy’s internal insistence, and Tony’s over-blown sense of mix-and-match as a viable option for life decisions, but it was true now. Bruce was more than fond of Clint. His feelings for Clint mirrored the same as he had for Tony. 

“Bruce?” Clint asked. “I—“

“The Other Guy and I share the same heart,” Bruce said simply. He looked up at the familiar sound of Iron Man approaching. Tony landed with a heavy thud, and immediately came to crouch down in front of them both. His dark eyes were liquid with concern and worry, and Bruce gave him a small smile. 

“Brucie?” Tony asked. He had the suit on, limiting his options for touching and hugging, but words would ease him nearly as well. 

"Doing okay," Bruce said. He lifted a hand to caress the side of Tony's face, the only part of him not covered by the suit. A wash of emotion came over him as he did, love and tenderness for Tony, and thankfulness that Tony didn't hesitate to get mixed up in the thick of things. Usually, Bruce worried over that, but for the moment, he was grateful. It meant that the Other Guy and, therefore Bruce, wouldn't end up in a cell somewhere, probably drugged out of his mind. "We need to address this, of course, but I'm okay." 

"Problem-solving is what we do," Tony said, and he rebalanced himself so he could lean in and kiss Bruce. Then, to Bruce's surprise, he leaned down to kiss Clint as well, before sitting back. Clint was staring at Tony like he'd never quite seen him before, and Tony looked back and forth between them. Tony grinned and shook his head. "Kiss already," he said. 

Bruce swallowed. He wanted to, and had certainly kissed Clint many times previously, but now things were different. Now he knew the consequences of this action. The Other Guy formed an attachment that, when stressed, meant devastation and destruction on a scale that had seemed impossible, even when he knew Hulk's penchant for completely razing entire areas into dust and rubble. He shook his head. "No. This has to end, Tony. The Other Guy…this isn't a good thing. He's too invested. If Clint, or you…if one of you gets hurt, there won't be any way to stop him."

Tony stared at him. His gaze wavered to Clint and then back to Bruce. "I think it's a little too late for that. The Other Guy isn't the only one who'd take on the world." He made a fist. "Do you think, even for a moment, that if one of you was hurt or killed, that I wouldn't go round the bend and never come back? Because if you haven't figured that out by now, then I will tell it to you, again and again. Hulk's not the only one who would smash. I can guarantee you that."

Clint's fingers found Bruce's hand, and he threaded their fingers together. "What Tony said. My sanity isn't a certain thing." He grinned at Tony. "Although I'd probably be a little bit more specific in my targeting."

Stunned, Bruce sat there. 

More gently, Tony said, "Bruce. It's already a done deal. The three of us—"

"Four," Clint interjected. 

Tony nodded. "The _four_ of us. It's inked and dried. It's been that way for as long as Hulk and Clint became friends, and the moment you and I got together. You know this." Tony gestured to Clint. "There was never going to be another way."

"Tony," Bruce choked out. He couldn't escape the logic, but he hated it. He hated the fact that his weakness, his attachments, would be the cause of so much damage. And it would happen, inevitably. Bruce didn't know, but he suspected, that the Other Guy was damn near immortal, which probably meant Bruce was as well. Tony and Clint weren't, and they lived a crazily dangerous existence. "The Other Guy—"

Clint raised a finger from his free hand and placed it on Bruce's lips. "Shh." The sound was one of comfort. "We'll talk to Hulk. I'll talk to him. I can explain it. He's listening now, you know he is."

Bruce closed his eyes. Yes, the Other Guy was paying attention. With Clint and Tony both so close, the Other Guy always paid attention, and was quiescent. "Please," he said. _Hrrrrumph_ , came the answer from deep inside him, and it was enough. 

"Good," Clint said, as if he'd heard the answer as well, and he leaned against Bruce. "I assume the fighting is over?"

Tony gave a sharp nod. 

"Someone help me downstairs?" Clint asked "I need a shower, and bed, and not necessarily in that order." He strengthened the lean, molding against Bruce, and Tony reached out to lightly touch Clint's head. "I need both of you." His eyes were bright as he looked between the two of them. 

Bruce glanced to Tony, whose eyes were smoky dark, and shining with an intensity that Bruce knew would spell their eventual doom. But he was committed to this course. Let mayhem come down upon them all. He could give up neither, and the only way was forward, ever forward. He was lost to this endeavor, and for the moment at least, Bruce could not find it in himself to regret it. "And we need you," Bruce replied, and Tony smiled, devil-may-care and foolhardy, and Bruce knew for sure that there was no other way but to be committed to the course.


End file.
